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Chapter 266: Your Wipeout’s Beyond Imagination!
🕑 Added 2025-09-07 07:16:18 +0000 UTCKenji Ueyama played the resignation card.
The boardroom froze. Shareholders gawked.
Sure, Ueyama’s oversight was sloppy—business 101. And they weren’t idiots; they knew his story was half-BS, maybe six truths in ten.
But what could they do?
Kazu Okura’s PR stunt nearly sparked a global PR meltdown, and Ted Moriarty’s shady phone call with Gus Harper was on tape. Okura’s a clown, Moriarty’s a turncoat, and Komina’s got no one else to match Ueyama’s clout.
Plus, Ueyama held shares—a board insider. If he bailed now, who’d step up?
The seven major shareholders squirmed, faces sour.
“Uh… Mr. Ueyama,” one stammered, “let’s not rush this resignation talk.”
“It’s a rough patch for Komina. We need you to steer the ship.”
“Three directors and the game division’s GM quitting? That’s a PR nightmare.”
Ueyama, head bowed, smirked inwardly. Nailed it.
Sure, the board would push to groom their next golden boy, but so what? He’d retire in two years, pockets stuffed, riding out his presidency. The board’s 800 schemes for the next CEO would keep them bickering, leaving him to run the show.
After some murmurs, a shareholder spoke: “Mr. Ueyama, drop the resignation talk. Komina needs you to hold the line.”
Ueyama straightened, frowning like the weight of the world was on him. “Alright, but please, shareholders, fast-track picking the next president. Two years is all I’ve got—my old bones can’t keep up.”
He coughed for effect. The board nodded, masking their eye-rolls. Yeah, we get it, Kenji. You’re not subtle.
After a predictable “debate,” the meeting wrapped. Ueyama saw the shareholders out with a bow.
Alone in the boardroom, he kicked back, feet on the table, radiating smug kingpin vibes. Komina was still his. Next up? A brutal internal shake-up.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in,” Ueyama called, spotting his assistant at the door.
Click. The door opened.
“Gus, my man! Been too long!” Victor Lang, in casual threads, strode into WindyPeak’s office, led by Chloe Quinn.
Gus Harper and Zoey Parker stood to greet him. Gus shook Victor’s hand, all smiles. Zoey, trailing behind, rolled her eyes. Miss him? Please. You’re just thirsty for his games.
Victor was here to “summon the gaming gods.”
“No need to fly out, Victor. Video call would’ve worked,” Gus said, grinning.
Victor waved it off. “Nah, this is big. Gotta do it face-to-face.”
Victor Lang was a hustler who knew the game. Know the times, seize the moment wasn’t just a catchphrase—he lived it. He’d always said IndieVibe didn’t make WindyPeak; they just gave them a boost early on.
Humility in business? Not a bad look.
It paid off. Three years ago, IndieVibe’s global market share was 19%, crushed by Nebula Games at 27% and imported somatosensory cabins at 49%. Now? IndieVibe led with 33%, Nebula Games trailed at 29%, and imports shrank to 31%. They’d flipped the script, becoming the top dog in motion-sensing cabins.
Now, IndieVibe was gunning for the global stage with killer tech and wallet-friendly prices. This meeting? A pitch to get Gus Harper—the Wizard himself—to craft an exclusive sports game for IndieVibe X2.
Victor came with two plans: co-fund the game or slash IndieVibe’s cut to 10% to sweeten the deal.
Zoey shut both down. Please, no more handouts. I’m begging you.
Her goal? Tank this sports game. Profit? Irrelevant. Her real play was a Garden Warfare spin-off, where she’d burn cash like nobody’s business.
Accepting Victor’s deals risked another hit, boosting IndieVibe’s market share. Then Victor, all smiles, might say, “Hey, let’s drop the Garden Warfare cut to 10% too! Surprise!”
Zoey shivered. No thanks, bro. I’m already scarred from your “surprises.”
She zoned out, plotting how to bleed millions on Garden Warfare’s budget.
Meanwhile, Gus and Victor hashed out the sports game.
Victor leaned toward ball sports. “Football, basketball—big global crowds, huge markets,” he said. “Plus, Komina’s Wild Dunk EX killed it with that ‘pickup’ format—streetball vibes, no strict rules. Players ate it up.”
He shrugged, hinting: “What if we take that vibe, go full baseball? Add flashy moves, skill combos. IndieVibe X2’s all about full sensory and motion assist—let players feel the hype.”
Gus nodded, thinking. Victor’s pitch was solid for a non-designer. He saw Wild Dunk EX’s success, knew flashy mechanics were the hook, and picked baseball to stand out.
But Gus had bigger ideas. “That’s a good start, Victor, but I’m thinking… extreme sports.”
Victor’s grin froze. “Extreme… sports?”
“Yeah,” Gus said. “Mountain descents, skydiving, big-wave surfing, wingsuit flying, downhill skiing. A game that pumps adrenaline like nothing else.”
Victor swallowed. Holy—Gus wants players to yeet themselves into oblivion?
“Uh… that’s… bold,” Victor stammered. “But extreme sports? There’s no global events for that. Not even regional ones.”
Gus blinked. “No events? Seriously?”
He’d assumed extreme sports had some scene—Red Bull-style “your death’s wilder than your dreams” vibes. He pulled out his phone, searching “mountain descent race.”
Results: Florida man falls off mountain proving he’s Superman. Cold case: mountain fall or murder? Eagle survives valley plunge.
“Big-wave surfing”? Just travel ads. “Wingsuit flying championship”? Airplane news.
Gus cursed under his breath. Extreme sports were niche—beyond niche. Just death reports and hobbyist blogs.
“I get the somatosensory cabin vibe,” Victor said cautiously. “But… the audience? Kinda tiny, no?”
Before he could finish, Zoey snapped back to reality, her voice sharp: “Yo, Victor, you forgetting who we are? WindyPeak dives headfirst into the impossible.”
This project? Zoey Parker was all in.
